London,
Tuesday, 28th.
We got back yesterday at 2 o'clock and the weather has changed to-day. It was very hot all day yesterday. I spent the afternoon on my sofa until 6.30, when we went for a ride and met the few last people who are still here. Last night we discussed our summer plans, and I shall go over to France on Saturday with Francis, stay three or four days in Paris, and then go down to St. Léger. It is curious how London is suddenly empty. There were not 5 carriages in the park yesterday. This morning I have been careering about the stable-yard trying a new habit. They are so difficult to make in these days, so tight that the least change of saddle makes them go every way but the right one. I don't know if I wrote after the Harwoods lunched with us. W. was much pleased with them and found them a most attractive family. The girls are charming, so pretty and simple. I must stop, as Holmes (the English butler) is waiting for me to tell him all sorts of final arrangements before we start.
To G. K. S.
Albert Gate,
November 9, 1885.
The young King of Spain is dead. The Ambassador, M. de Casa La Iglesia, was to have dined with us. He sent a note at 5.30 saying that he must give up the pleasure of dining with us for a "bien pénible raison," but without saying what it was—so one of the secretaries went off "aux informations" and came back with the news that the King was dead. Poor young fellow, his reign was short.
December 5th.
We had a service at the Spanish chapel in Manchester Square for the King of Spain. All the Diplomats and official world there. It was very long—all the ladies were in black—Comtesse Karolyi (Austrian Ambassadress) and Comtesse de Bylandt (wife of the Dutch Minister) in crêpe, long veils. They told me I was not at all correct, that a crêpe veil was "de rigueur" for crowned heads. I thought I was all right in black velvet, a tulle veil, and black gloves (in fact was rather pleased with my get-up), but the ladies were very stern.
London,
December 15, 1885.
I wish you were here this morning, Dear, as the Embassy is a curiosity—might just as well be in Kamtchatka as far as the outside world is concerned—for nothing exists beyond the walls of the house. When they drew back my curtains this morning I couldn't really think for a moment where I was. Adelaïde had a lighted candle in her hand (it was 8.30 o'clock in the morning) and I thought my window panes had been painted a dirty yellow in the night. However it was only a yellow London fog; I could literally see nothing when I went to the window. It has lightened now a little, but we have had lamps for breakfast, and I am writing with my candles! The big shops opposite are all lighted, and one sees little glimmers of light through the fog. I can't see across the street. The fog gets into everything—was quite thick and perceptible in the hall when we went down to breakfast. The coachman has been in and said he couldn't take out his horses, not even with a link-boy running alongside, so let us hope it will brighten up a little in the course of the afternoon.